The Extravagant Lives of Corrupted Men
by Genis Aurion
Summary: [AlmostCrackFic, predominantly Style]. Stan is a priest who follows lame stereotypes. Kyle believes in late night fantasies. And Kenny? Well. Kenny just paints.
1. Of paint, sermons, and teeth

**The Extravagant Lives of Corrupted Men**

**Ships: **StanKyle, KennyBebe, CraigTweek, EricWendy**  
Genre: **humor, romance, angst, drama… well, pretty much everything.**  
Warning: **slash pairings, swearing, culture-bashing, character death (Kenny, of course!), drug and alcohol usage, smoking… though it's pretty much just anything goes.**  
Rating: **Teen. Bordering mature, but probably not.**  
Summary:** Stan is a priest who follows lame stereotypes. Kyle believes in after-hour fantasies. And Kenny? Well. Kenny just paints.

Chapter I

There was not a better feeling for Kevin McKormick than to see his newly finished painting of his brother's. This, of course, being because he had posed a good two hours to get it painted, not to mention he'd soon have the pleasure of selling his nude picture to a feisty, young, horny woman, who would probably hang it on her bedroom wall for purposes he spent hours in the bathroom fantasizing.

However, for his brother Kenny… there were probably better feelings.  
Like sex, for example. Though the idea of his brother _finally_ putting some clothes on _was_ a good feeling, too.

"Lemme see the fucking picture," Kevin growled, snatching the painting into his hands. "How much you think we'll get outta this?"

"Maybe fifty," Kenny replied, making sure his gaze was strictly focused on the upper half of the picture. "You're nude in this one. Maybe a hundred."

"I'm nude in most of them," snapped Kevin, setting the painting back on the easel. "Now when can I sell it? I've been fucking deprived for two days, now."

"Let the paint dry," Kenny said, his desire just as great as his brother's. "Go to the Cartman's, though; Liane will buy it for any price you offer."

"Fuck, yes!" Kevin exclaimed, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Two hundred, for her then!"

"Good deal," said Kenny, rubbing his fists together. "God, I need a fucking cigarette…."

-

"An excellent sermon," Randy Marsh was saying, hand upon a nice, young lad. "Really, I think you've improved since you first started."

"Thanks dad."

"A real eye-opener, that was," continued the balding man, giving a pat to his beer belly. "You sent your mother in tears."

"Dad, it was just a father's—"

"I hope you're happy," Randy said with a sigh, turning away. "Because of that sermon of yours she needs to pass by the grocery store to fetch a box of Kleenexes. _Kleenexes_! And I'm missing the first fifteen minutes of the game!"

"Thirty minutes if you don't leave now," said Stan with a sly smile, and, with the horror etched upon his face, Randy Marsh flew off.

Now perhaps one might think that Stan would've joined his father in watching the game, but no, he had other things to do. Like, for instance, imagining his father slouched in their ten-year-old couch of theirs, popcorn in lap, and beer in hand. Now why would a man eat popcorn to watch the game, Stan couldn't possibly imagine, especially since he was more of a chips-and-cheese-dip kind of guy; of course, _all_ priests fasted as much as they could, barely eating more than they needed, so, of course, Stan refrained from the chips.

The cheese, of course, he ate with no problem. It was the best part, after all.

Yet that, of course, wasn't why Stan had to go home. In fact, it was because he had to start planning his next week's sermon. Since, as _everyone_ knew, that's all a priest really did. Read off a book… and then make a speech.

And then hold wine and bread into the air for all to see. You know… the tiring part of the job.

-

"He's a fucking priest, for fuck's sake!" Ike Broflovski—Peter Gints, rather, as named after abandoning his adopted, Jewish heritage—yelled into the glazed eyes of his adopted, Jewish-culture-retaining brother Kyle. "Having fantasies with men is one thing, Kyle—and I promise I won't tell mom—but with Stan? A _priest_, Kyle!"

"A _Catholic _priest!" said Kyle, hopes raised past Uranus. "And he's really stereotypical, anyway! He might be a _gay_, Catholic priest!"

…hopes raised past Neptune….

"And you're a gay, Semitic Jew." As opposed to a non-Semitic Jew… though that _just_ might exist. "You're double-damned to heaven, Kyle. You wanna make Stan double-damned, too?"

"Cartman says only Mormons go to heaven," retorted Kyle, "and while I don't normally believe _everything _he says, I'm pretty sure Kenny's said that angels themselves have affirmed this." Kyle sighed, placing a green, textured sheet on Peter's chest, connecting it to a string, and ultimately tying it around his neck. "So he's Catholic, he's damned once. And if he's a gay priest, he's double-damned!—without my help!"

"Whatever, Kyle," Peter mumbled, eyeing the tools on the tray carefully. "You and your fantasies, seriously."

"Would you like to hear about them?" Kyle asked. "I'm sure you've heard about the one with Stan on—"

"What I would _like_ to hear," said Ike, sneering, "is the sound of _that_ silver tool against my teeth, doing what a dentist is _supposed_ to do with it. Like myself, I don't think that tool's going to appreciate the story you're telling, and nor will it appreciate the money wasted on such a story, the money _I spent_ to pay my own, fucking _brother_!"

Kyle grew quiet, and then shrugged. "Stop complaining, you're adopted."

-

Eric Cartman remained still on the couch as he tossed Cheesy Poofs by the dozen into his mouth, licking his lips in a satisfied manner after every scoopful or so. He couldn't care less about his disapproving mother, who was much too scared to bring up the topic of obesity to her fully grown once-child, nor of the pussycat who liked showing her pussy-like pussy to anyone who hazarded a look in her direction.

Her? His? Maybe just an 'it.'  
A look in its direction. Yeah, that seemed to work.

But really, the only thing Eric actually _cared_ about was the television in front of him, watching all the episodes of Terrance and Phillip he had missed, all because he had attended so many of Kenny's funerals, on Wendy's request, who was requested by Stan, whom Kyle wanted there, because Kenny liked it when Kyle was there.

However, Liane Cartman had turned into the silent type, after continuous back-talking from her only son, so she wasn't a problem at all. And the cat? Well. The cat smoked catfish—no, _spoke _cat-ish, rather—and its meows weren't anything distracting. So the pussy was fine, for him.

So, when the doorbell rang that Tuesday afternoon, Eric roared louder than a lion.

…an angry lion, of course. Because an emo!lion would give rather crappy roars.

"Ms. Liane Cartman?" greeted the voice of a rather excited Kevin McKormick. The two, of course, were acquainted well, as Kevin's visit would neither be the first nor the last. "We've got another offer for you."

"Oh, goodness," she said, blushing. "I haven't seen you since—"

"Goddamnit, can you keep it down over there! I'm trying to watch mah damn show!"

Liane uttered a small apology before continuing. "Anyway, I haven't seen you in a while, Kevin. So what's the painting in question this time?"

Kevin revealed the nude painting of himself.

"Two hundred," he said simply, nodding his head.

"My, my, that's quite a nice… _thing_ you've got there."—though, she already had six paintings of him nude, so her statement was rather pointless. "Two hundred, you say?"

"_Keep it down, ma!_"

"_Meooooooooow!_"

"Goddamn pusseh, shut the hell up!"

Liane shook her head, uttering yet another apology. "It's a deal."

She left momentarily to get her wallet. Kevin took the opportunity to look around; a picture of him stood proudly in the dining room, though he wasn't nude in that one.

"Here you go," she said, and Kevin took the money happily. "So what're you doing with all that money?"

"Buying stuff," Kevin said simply before turning on the spot. "Good day, Liane."


	2. Of cheese, sluts, and abstinence

_Fanfiction randomly decided to cut off the review system, so you're lack of reviews are pardoned. But I expect a good deal (say, 18 total?) before I post chapter 3.  
And yes, because of the site's stupidity, I DO have this story written past chapter 7, now._

* * *

**The Extravagant Lives of Corrupted Men**

**Ships: **StanKyle, KennyBebe, CraigTweek, EricWendy**  
Genre: **humor, romance, angst, drama… well, pretty much everything.**  
Warning: **slash pairings, swearing, culture-bashing, character death (Kenny, of course!), drug and alcohol usage, smoking… though it's pretty much just anything goes.**  
Rating: **Teen.**  
Summary:** Stan is a priest who follows lame stereotypes. Kyle believes in after-hour fantasies. And Kenny? Well. Kenny just paints.

Chapter II

"Do… you… have… cheese?" repeated Stan, his voice slurred as he leaned closer to the large-breasted (with emphasis split equally between both words), blonde, gum-chewing woman.

"I can hear you, like, perfectly fine." _Click_. "Refrigerated section. Aisle two."

"Thank… you…" said Stan, bowing lowly. Most guys, of course, would show appreciation for this walking goddess of beauty, but Stan did not. Partially because he was a priest, a _Catholic_ priest, but also because he found no interest in the woman.

…again, partially because he was a priest. And though it seemed as if he had no attraction for women (blaming the priesthood, again), he, in fact, did, but the gum-chewing made her look more of a horse than anything else.

…bestiality was forbidden in Catholicism, according to Stan.

"Do you think I'm, like, stupid or something?" she called after him. "I've got big boobs and blonde hair, but I'm not air headed or anything!"

Stan ignored her. But the curious boy in aisle seven did not, apparently.

"Mommy, what're big boobs?"  
"Oh, Davey, it's when you have breasts the size of the Sydney Opera House, like mommy's are."

It seemed, however, that the girl was quite interested in the priest, and wouldn't relent. "Just because I've got big boobs doesn't mean I'm a slut!"

"Mommy what's a slut?"  
"Oh, Davey, it's when you whore yourself for money, like mommy does."

"Why aren't you interested in me!" she called out, and Stan turned around. "Am I not your type or something?"

"I'm a priest," he said slowly, repulsed by the clicking her tongue made against the rubbery sugar in her mouth. "Sorry."

The woman gave up right then. He was a _priest_, after all. There would _clearly_ no hope for her, there.

-

"Fucking. _Yes_!" Kevin hooted cheerfully as he entered through the door of their small apartment. From his pocket he extracted ten, twenty-dollar bills, which he slammed against the kitchen table. From the living room Kenny turned around, brush and a bottle of paint in hand, and marveled at the sight. "Two fucking hundred dollars."

Kenny only remained silent, his lack of talking conveying his emotions for him. Two hundred dollars… that would be one of their bigger revenues, but still, it was hard to simply let the money fall into conservative hands.

"I need cigarettes," Kenny said quietly. "And I'll need about fifty of that. You can use the rest."

"Why?" Kevin asked hungrily, almost snarling.

"Art supplies," Kenny replied, shaking the paint bottle. "I'm almost out." He set the bottle down as he abandoned his painting for the moment being, heading for the kitchen. "Anyway, we can just split the money in half."

"Fine," Kevin muttered, stuffing five bills back into his pocket. "Fucking hell, we need more money."

"I'm on it," muttered Kenny, motioning toward the canvas. "I'm gonna try selling that one to Mr. Marsh. He likes Danica Patrick…." Kevin peered over Kenny's shoulder, and the female racer stared motionlessly back at him, finger in her slightly parted mouth, and her eyes almost flashing.

"You'll never get that past his wife," Kevin growled.

Kenny frowned, but that quickly changed into a devious grin. "I can think of a few ways…."

-

"…try and remain calm for Dr. Broflovski," a lady by the name of Sue told the man on the chair, though it seemed the man wouldn't listen.

"Gah! I hate dental appointments!"

"Don't worry, Mr. Tweak," she said, looking at the corkboard on the wall. "You're only due for a checkup. Nothing too big."

"Checkup?" echoed Tweek, eyeing the metal "weapons" on the tray carefully. "Jesus!"

"He'll he in here shortly," Sue said, and she motioned to leave. However, after glancing back at the frenzied man, she returned to him briefly to retrieve the metal tools.

He wouldn't be safe alone in the room with them, after all.

"Mr. Tweak is ready for you, Kyle," she said as she passed another room of the dental office.

"Is he all right?" asked Kyle's current patient—except, with his mouth open, it came out more like: "Eh he al ite?"

"Should be fine," Sue continued. "Didn't want to leave him with these, though," she added, motioning to the tray.

"Thanks, Ms. Zuki," said Kyle.

"Don't call me Ms. Zuki," she insisted, waving her free hand. "Call me Sue."

"Okay, Sue." She nodded before leaving, and Kyle returned to his patient. "Craig, if you want, when we're done, you can come with me to Tweek. He might need… coaxing."

"Okay." Kyle nodded before handing Craig a cup of fluid. And as he watched Craig gurgle and spit it out, he couldn't help but to think of how much hell his appointment with Tweek Tweak would bring.

At least he didn't keep gnomes in that office. Now _that_ would be hell.

-

Kenny placed the orange hood of his parka over his head, humming a song to himself as the familiar, acrid smell filled his nostrils. He took in the smell, welcoming it with want, and as he glanced longingly at the cars by the pumps, he entered the gas station.

Marlboro, of course, would be the kind he'd get today. He bought none other.

"Three boxes?" questioned the clerk, and with a glare from the blonde, he had gotten his answer. "Cash or card?"

"Cash," replied the blonde, and he thrust the money in the clerk's direction. "Now give me the fucking cigarettes." Most people, of course, would react to such vulgar language, especially since Kenny was receiving the service, and not giving it. However, it appeared that, at this particular gas station, vulgar language was commonplace, and hearing such words was usually ignored.

"There's your change," the clerk said. "Have a great evening, now." Kenny didn't even bother saying thank you, quickly grabbing the box as he burst outside. He propped himself against the wall and, with small difficulty, he managed to open the box.

A flick of the lighter and he was set.

His eyes flashed in the light of the new fire, and as he watched the end ignite, he smiled. He hadn't seen that sight in ages… nor had he not felt the pleasure he would soon feel.

He took the cigarette into his mouth and inhaled, and a smile came over him as he exhaled. He felt light and happy, watching the smoke he exhaled, taking in some of its smell through his nostrils, and he closed his eyes.

Heaven.

-

Stan found himself returning to the woman.

"I meant cheese dip," he said apologetically.

When she frowned at him, he repeated himself. "I… _meant_… cheese—"

"I heard you," she snapped, as if she had not just shot him a questioning look. "Aisle eight. Beside the chips."

"Thank you." And he left once again. But he had barely realized the woman following him….

"You know," she said once they had come to a halt. "I like the idea of you being a priest. Sounds _naughty_."

"How so?" Stan asked nonchalantly.

"Defying religious morals, _doing_ it in the confession box… a hot scene, if you ask me." She licked her lips seductively, and Stan merely shrugged.

"I'm a _Catholic _priest," he reminded her, frowning.

"Why can't you just abandon your priestly duties for a night?" she whined, now pushing him against the wall of goods. "Why can't you just be like the other, horny, testosterone-filled men out there? Be the man you were meant to be?—not following some… abstinence code."

"Mommy, what's abstinence?"  
"Oh, Davey, it's when you refrain from making babies, like mommy tried doing after you."

Stan ignored the child and mother. "I'm not your average guy. I'm a _priest_."

"Of course you aren't the average guy," she said, poking Stan's stomach. "Priests aren't supposed to have hot abs like you do. And priests aren't exactly holy, either" she said, and Stan knew what she was referring to. "Break the stereotype! Have sex with a hot, female blonde!—not some underage boy!"

Stan grumbled; where was the stupidity in her voice, like there had been earlier that day? Where had she attained her sense in logic?—oh, but of course, she had faked it. All girls did, after all. Especially blonde ones who liked guys who liked girls acting stupid so they'd like them for liking guys who liked girls who acted stupid.

…that sentence made sense to Stan, at least.

"Sorry," Stan said quietly, religious morals passing through his mind once more. "I can't. Have a good day." And with that, he walked away, leaving the girl to wallow in her own despair.

"Mommy," asked the boy named Davey, looking at the sullen woman before them; "am _I_ a slut with big boobs?"

The woman, sighing, turned to her obese child, and smiled. "Yes, dear, you are, just like mommy. But remember, sweetie, abstinence is a _wonderful_ thing… unless it's sex with the reverend."

She laughed at her own, nostalgic memories before leading Davey away.


	3. Of father figures and designated drivers

_Okay, guys, an important correction!  
"_...Having fantasies with me is one thing, Kyle—and I promise I won't tell mom—but with Stan? A _priest_, Kyle!..."  
_ "Me" should be "Men." Heh. Yeah. Sorry. That makes all the difference in the world, though, huh?_

_I didn't get 18 reviews, which is slightly depressing. Can I ask for 25 this time, at least?_

* * *

**The Extravagant Lives of Corrupted Men**

**Ships: **StanKyle, KennyBebe, CraigTweek, EricWendy**  
Genre: **humor, romance, angst, drama… well, pretty much everything.**  
Warning: **slash pairings, swearing, culture-bashing, character death (Kenny, of course!), drug and alcohol usage, smoking… though it's pretty much just anything goes.**  
Rating: **Teen.**  
Summary:** Stan is a priest who follows lame stereotypes. Kyle believes in after-hour fantasies. And Kenny? Well. Kenny just paints.

Chapter III

"A night out?" Mr. Marsh asked, curiously. "What's the occasion?"

Kenny McKormick smiled innocently at Stan's dad. "Oh, no reason," he said, laughing. "I just… wanted someone to be with, you know?"

"Couldn't take Stan with you?" he asked, flipping randomly through channels. "There's a game tomorrow evening, and I'm not keen on missing it."

Kenny grumbled; this would be much harder than he thought. Still, however, with the Danica Patrick painting in his room, he couldn't just _abandon_ his original intent…. No, Kenny still had other plans. "Mr. Marsh," he said quietly, so only he could hear. "Mr. Marsh, you have no idea how much this means to me. I haven't talked to you in forever, and I'm thinking that if I don't catch up on events with you soon, I just might explode."

Randy looked at Kenny curiously but said nothing.

Kenny continued. "Mr. Marsh—_Randy_—I'm not sure if I ever told you, but…"—he leaned closer—"…you're like a father to me." A lie, of course, but such measures were necessary with the stubborn Randy Marsh….

"I am?" he asked, still peeled to the television.

"You are," affirmed Kenny. "My father was never much of a… father-son person, shall we say?—anyway, as a kid I always looked up to you as a father figure, because you had something my father never had."

"Oh?" Randy asked. "What's that?"

Kenny stalled. Fuck, what _did_ Randy Marsh have that his father didn't?—well, lots, really, but what did he have _relevant_ to the topic…? "A love for children," Kenny said with doubt, but Mr. Marsh had bought it.

"Thank you," he muttered, still looking at the television. "How about this?"

Kenny's eyes grew wide and excited.

"I'll ask Sharon to record the game. What'd you say to a visit to the pub?—you and me? We can drink the night away—"

"I'll just drink a little," said Kenny—he must not get intoxicated, not _this_ night.

Randy eyed him curiously.

"For, er… you know. We need a designated driver."

The older man nodded. "Right. We'll catch up on some stuff, maybe. Have a beer, you know…. Maybe pick up a few hot ladies." He said this in an undertone, just in case his wife was around. "Don't tell Sharon I said that, though."

"Deal," said Kenny, and he shook hands with Stan's father. "I'll drive, of course. I'll come by tomorrow at eight?"

"Sounds fine." Kenny nodded again, before saying goodbye to Mrs. Marsh, who had been busy cooking dinner for the night. Once he had left the household, however, he dropped his act, and began to silently cheer for his success.

Things were going as planned.

-

There was fear etched upon Sue Zuki's face as she typed on her computer. Not a fear of computer screens blowing up in her face, of course, because only certain people other than herself would possess that fear. In truth she didn't even have any real phobias to begin with. Yet she was quiet scared in opening her mouth, though she knew she'd have to face her fear if she wanted to carry out her job.

"Sir… I've scheduled your cleaning for the 15th," she said slowly.

…it would be any moment now.

"Cleaning?" asked the patient.

She was spared in having to talk; the patient's companion answered before she could even move her lips.

"You're coming back here so they can do more cleaning," he explained.

…any second now….

"The same thing as today?"

"…a bit more in depth."

Then it happened.

"_GAH!_ Jesus! When will it _end_?" Craig looked apologetically at Sue, who seemed to have tamed her fear somewhat. Yet still, she was quite scared in case… well, in case something happened because of his frenzy.

"Dr. Broflovski says you haven't been brushing your teeth enough for all the coffee you drink," Craig said calmly. "Don't worry, Tweek, it won't be that bad. I'll come with you, if you want."

Somehow, this seemed to be enough for the man, and, especially at the last sentence, Tweek Tweak calmed down. He nodded at Sue, who still looked quite frightened, and as he gave a slight wave to her, Craig and Tweek exited the dental office.

Sue turned to Kyle, who was laughing at distance. "It's not funny, Kyle!"

"He's not dangerous," was the reply. "Ms. Zuki—"

"_Sue_!"

"—fine, _Sue_, Tweek Tweak may have his occasional… moments… but that doesn't mean he's a threat to society."

"Look at your arm!" she yelled, pointing at his right arm; it looked as if it had been bleeding some time ago, but now it had dried up (and had probably been washed), and only a memento of the incident remained. "Explain _that_ then!"

"It was merely an accident," Kyle said quietly. "I probed at something in his mouth I shouldn't have bothered. He was surprised and jumped on the spot."

"Still doesn't explain anything."

Kyle mumbled, picking up the instrument. "They're all double-sided, Sue." He shook his head. "I wonder if any of these come with blunt ends…."

Sue examined the tool in his hand; both sides were sharp as needles, though having different shapes.

"I'm going to be in my office for a bit," Kyle said quietly. "You've got no more appointments for today. You're free to go home."

"Thank you," she said, picking up her bags. "Bye, Kyle!"

And she was off. For several moments Kyle stood still, watching his hygienist and receptionist skip in the distance, and, when he was sure she wouldn't return, he retreated to his office.

He threw open his drawer, extracting from it an album full of pictures. Most of them were normal pictures, either having Stan and Kyle posing (candidly or not), or having just Stan in a solo portrait. However, there were a few photographs hidden behind other pictures, and _those_, well… he had taken those pictures when he was either drunk, or when he was merely sleeping near naked on one of the many nights he had slept over….

He felt like Kenny as he pulled them out (one picture had his hand down his boxers, for what reason Kyle wasn't sure, though he did have his hopes up), and, as he set them in a row on his desk, he seated himself on his desk and unzipped his fly.

He closed his eyes and let his mind and hands do the rest.

-

"…and where've _you_ been?" Kevin demanded as Kenny scurried inside the apartment.

His younger brother held the bag in his hands. "Art supplies," he said simply, and he set them on the table. Kevin eyed them, surrounded by an air of curiosity, but he didn't bother to inspect them.

Kevin nudged his head to their small fridge, and Kenny, understanding the implication, made his way toward it.

"I may need one," said Kenny, pulling out the Corona from the fridge. "I doubt I'll be having tomorrow."

And he explained his plan to Kevin, the older man grinning.

"Might work," he said excitedly. "Even though _I'm_ supposed to be doing the selling."

"Less work for you," Kenny said, shrugging. "You'll sell the next bunch, then." Kevin nodded to this, and, as he raised his own bottle of beer, Kenny did the same, their bottles meeting in midair.

"I was at the Cartman's today," said Kevin, his smile vanishing. "She told me she's not going to buy any of our stuff for a while."

Kenny looked devastated.

"Thing is," Kevin added, "Eric was unusually attentive to our conversation, and he confronted me just as I was out the door." At this Kenny frowned, worry etched on his face; deals with Eric Cartman were never wise, as a childhood friendship had proved many times before.

"…what'd he say?"

"He wanted one-fifty for one of your paintings." Kenny shrugged; it was fifty less than their last painting (excluding the Danica Patrick portrait), but it was still a great deal of money….

"He wants a nude painting of you?" Kenny asked, the realization suddenly setting in.

It would've been worthy of laughter, too, if only it had been true. "Not me."

"Me?" Kenny asked, aghast.

Kevin shook his head. "Someone by the name of Wendy Testaburger."

Kenny glared at his brother; _Wendy Testaburger_? It was simple enough getting his brother to pose nude, especially since half the revenue was for his own personal uses. But Wendy?—she was just an average woman, a _sane_ woman, who probably didn't even look at porn or male swimsuit calendars. There would be _no_ way he'd be getting her nude….

"He only wants a swimsuit picture," Kevin added, and Kenny sighed with such relief that it surprised his brother. "What, only willing to paint nude guys?"

"No," snapped Kenny, "I'm not gay." His brother's gaze was unconvinced of his story. "Getting Wendy nude would've been impossible. At least this way we can get the painting done."

"More booze," Kevin mumbled, though Kenny had heard him quite well. "So, you up for it?"

"You even have to ask?" Kenny asked, grinning madly. "I'll get to it right away… after I'm done with Mr. Marsh."


	4. Of conceited jerks and grandmothers

If anyone's interested in co-writing a KennyButters fic with me, now's a good time to tell me. I'll give more information once you've contacted me.

* * *

**The Extravagant Lives of Corrupted Men **

**Ships: **StanKyle, KennyBebe, CraigTweek, EricWendy**  
Genre: **humor, romance, angst, drama… well, pretty much everything.**  
Warning: **slash pairings, swearing, culture-bashing, character death (Kenny, of course!), drug and alcohol usage, smoking… though it's pretty much just anything goes.**  
Rating: **Teen.**  
Summary:** Stan is a priest who follows lame stereotypes. Kyle believes in after-hour fantasies. And Kenny? Well. Kenny just paints.

Chapter IV 

Perhaps the one thing Stan disliked about being a priest was the idea of having to preach at masses.  
More specifically, the weekday masses.  
The _ridiculously early_ weekday masses.

Waking up early was a thing of the past! He had hoped he'd have long abandoned that habit in his years of education, that in his future life he could wake up at his own accord, whenever he felt like it. But of course, he had been influenced too heavily by that damned guest speaker, and now he was doomed to 7:30 a.m. masses for the rest of his life.

He didn't want to go, but, of course, he had to. At least no one cared about how good or bad his sermons were. He doubted they barely listened to him, especially since they were just as tired as he was.

Except for the old people. They always woke up freakishly early.

He made it to mass somewhat all right that particular morning. He stared at his congregation groggily; who would even _want_ to go to mass this early? Surely if he were given a say, he would _never_ opt to attend a 7:30 mass.

At least weekday masses were shorter, and so, with the final blessing said, he walked around as he always did, greeting his parishioners as they left.

"Ah, Wendy!" greeted Stan, and the two embraced in a hug. "What brings you to a mass this early?" Stan, of course, was trying to restrain his language, since he was still inside the church and the priest of it.

Yet talking to Wendy—or anyone he knew—made it hard to talk professionally.

"Grandmother died," she said quietly, looking away. "I heard it last night while closing a deal on a particularly large house…." Her voice trailed off; Stan approached her side and placed a comforting arm around her. She sniffled, hiccupping, and continued. "I'm flying out to attend her funeral."

"I see," Stan said solemnly. "I'm really sorry to hear about your grandmother. I'll keep her in my prayers… hope she rests in peace."

"Thank, Stan," said Wendy, and she smiled. "You know, Stan?—I mean, father? I think you've grown up since we left high school."

"You think so?"

"You're no longer some conceited jock," she said, closing her eyes. "And you aren't the jerk I dumped all those years ago."

Stan chuckled nervously. "I don't think there's any chance of having you now," he said with a laugh, and Wendy joined him.

"Well… thanks Father." She turned to leave, but as Stan watched her go, she suddenly turned on the spot. "Wow, it's really weird calling you that…. I don't think I would've _ever_ thought you'd be a priest."

"Same," he said. "Well, have a nice day, now."

With one final wave, she was gone. At one point, maybe, Stan would've thought more of her leaving South Park, but he merely resumed in greeting parishioners, until at last they were all gone.

However, even though Stan didn't think anything particular of this departure, there were still two other grown men who would react differently. And in the case of one particular man, hell might as well have come onto earth itself.

Not to say that Satan hadn't thought of that before, because he _had_… but here, it was just a figure of speech.

Hopefully.

-

Kenny didn't have a car, so instead he walked himself to the Marsh household. In one hand he held a large paper bag, inside it containing the painting of Danica Patrick, and with it he held the fate of a good portion of his life. If Randy didn't buy it… well, he'd be out of money for _quite_ a while, an idea he passionately disliked.

He arrived at the house on time, and, with a knock of the door, found Shelley at his face.

"You still live here?" he asked, and she merely stared coldly at him.

"Visiting."—and with that she admitted the blonde inside.

Mr. Marsh was already ready, and, with a wave to his family, immediately exited with Kenny.

"What's in the bag?"

"Stuff," Kenny muttered, and, to his shock, Randy bought it.

Kenny let Randy drive to the pub, though he knew he would be driving back. Throughout their trip Randy had talked constantly about the night's game, something Kenny didn't know about; he loved sports, sure, but he hadn't followed anything since he had to sell his television for money.

The two arrived at ease, and Kenny, still carrying the paper bag, led Mr. Marsh quickly inside.

The first part of his plan would be hard to execute. Getting Randy drunk was no swift matter, as he preferred consuming his alcohol slowly, unless he was watching the game. However, being the gregarious person he was, Kenny found himself sliding along the partially improvised event, getting Randy to drink more, and more, and more.

Eventually, after six bottles, Randy's actions indicated clear intoxication.

Time to act.

"So, Randy," began Kenny, "I hear you like Danica Patrick?"

"Yeah," he said, extending the word for a few seconds with his slurred voice. "She hot. I'd bang."

"Yeah, she is pretty hot," Kenny agreed. Disagreeing with the man, after all, would not get the result he wanted. "Have any photos of her?"

"Nah," said Randy. "I gotta watch race to see 'er."

"But she's in her car, you barely see her!"

"I know," Randy replied, belching. "Sucks."

"Do you want a picture of her?" Kenny asked, and Randy shook his head.

"Internet helpful, I guess. Just pull her up."

"I can offer you a life-size painting," he said, and, with much effort, he pulled out his painting. "I'd say you'd like mine."

Randy's eyes grew wide at the sight. "That's fucking huge." But Kenny knew he wasn't talking about the size of the painting, but instead of the breasts he had conveniently enlarged for Mr. Marsh's sake. Thankfully for Kenny, Randy was intoxicated enough to not remember her actual, much smaller, breast size. "How much?"

"A hundred," said Kenny, even though he knew it was too expensive. But of course, he was relying on Randy's intoxication to impair his judgment.

"Deal," said the man, and inside the blonde rejoiced. "I'll never get this past the wife, though."

"I'll leave it in your car," said Kenny, "and you can just… utilize the picture there, when you feel the urge." Randy made some sort of gurgling noise, perhaps a thank you on his part, and as he handed the blonde five twenty-dollar bills, Kenny turned to the door.

"Shall I get you home?" Kenny offered, and Randy nodded.

"Sometimes I wish Stan were like you, but he had to become a fucking priest now, didn't he?"

Kenny made no comment. The joy of having more money seemed enough to drown everything else out.

Heaven, once more. But that would soon change.

* * *

_-Zak_


	5. Of nightmares, bunnies, and bubble baths

_I'm relatively pleased with the review count for this story. Please, keep it up!_

* * *

**The Extravagant Lives of Corrupted Men**

**Ships: **StanKyle, KennyBebe, CraigTweek, EricWendy, KevinLiane**  
Genre: **humor, romance, angst, drama… well, pretty much everything.**  
Warning: **slash pairings, swearing, culture-bashing, character death (Kenny, of course!), drug and alcohol usage, smoking… though it's pretty much just anything goes.**  
Rating: **Teen.**  
Summary:** Stan is a priest who follows lame stereotypes. Kyle believes in after-hour fantasies. And Kenny? Well. Kenny just paints.

Chapter V

He was being chased through corridors, alleys, shops—everything he could think of, really. He could still hear her heels, no matter how much he thought he'd shaken her off, and it was starting to annoy Stan how the girl from the superstore would not leave him alone.

He found himself by his old house, and, as he glanced back, quickly sought refuge in it. He climbed the stairs, past his sister's room, and dove into his own room, latching the door as he sank to the floor, hoping she could not get in….

"Why run?" said the familiar voice, and Stan jumped so much in shock that he bumped his head against the doorknob.

"But how'd you…?"

"Never mind that," she said, and she lowered her jeans, revealing a black, laced thong. "You know you want me."

"I don't!" Stan said in fear, and he even found himself making the sign of the cross. "I don't want you!—I don't want you!—I don't—"

The blonde employee merely stripped herself of her shirt, and Stan did his best to not look at her chest. Probably plastic surgery, since there was _no_ way they could be real, but still quite tempting….

"No, not tempting!" Stan shrieked, and the woman pressed her chest to his face.

"Go against the catholic priest stereotype!" she said with a laugh. "Don't fuck little boys, sweetie!—I'm sure even if you were a gay priest, you'd rather do _me_ over that friend of yours. Kyle, was it?"

"No way!" Stan said; "I'd rather do _Kyle_ than screw a psychopath like you!"

She eyed him curiously, and then, as Stan began to fear the loss of his priestly vows of abstinence, she stopped.

"Guess I was wrong about you, huh?" she said, and she ran straight out the window.

Had she killed herself?  
But wait, how did she know who Kyle was?

And with that, forehead quite sweaty, and palms dangerously close to his crotch, Stan awoke from his dream. He side-glanced at his clock, which shone 3:00 a.m. quite brightly in crimson, and after grumbling somewhat he shook his head and fell onto his pillow once more.

That blonde girl had scared the hell out of him… was she like that in the real world? Stan couldn't say; meeting her for the first time had caused him to think, based on his stereotypical instincts, that she would be dumb, not to mention a slut because of her boobs, but the second time around he learned she wasn't as stupid as he thought. And maybe, _just_ maybe, she wasn't much of a slut either, despite her advances.

Yet… there was one more part of the dream that was bothering him… but he couldn't figure out what it was.

Deciding he needed all the sleep he could get, Stan fell back asleep, regarding the dream as a nightmare, and nothing more.

-

"Ack! Jesus!" Coffee-brown eyes found emerald ones staring curiously at him, and with a start Tweek ran behind the door. "Dr. Broflovski! Ack! The cleaning's _now_?"

He gave a violent shudder, but Kyle ignored this.

"Tweek, can I talk to Craig?"

"Craig?" Another twitch. "What'd you want with him?"

"I—just lemme see him, okay?" Tweek hesitated for a moment, as if trying to convince himself that his dentist was _not_ trying to sneak underpants gnomes inside their house, and after a moment's decision, Tweek widened the door.

"I'll get him, wait here," he said, and he bounded up the stairs. Kyle seated himself in the living room, where he found many pictures of Tweek and Craig, always together, always having fun….

Why couldn't he be like that?—why did Stan have to become a fucking priest?

Though of course, even if Stan hadn't been a priest, he probably still wouldn't have been gay, either….

But at least he had that chance.

"What's up, doc?" Kyle frowned, half-expecting to see a carrot in Craig's mouth, but when he found none, he shook his head in confusion. "Sorry, I forgot my bunny ears upstairs."

"Right." And then it hit him; Kyle _was_ a doc…ter. It had merely been an address to his dentist. "Just call me Kyle. In your house, I'm not your dentist."

"Okay, Kyle." Craig shifted his position, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "So what'd you need?"

"Help," said Kyle, and Craig could immediately sense the sound of despair in his voice—well, what sounded like despair at least, because it really hadn't been so much despair than doom.

Craig took a seat on the recliner next to Kyle, and he lounged himself before asking Kyle to continue.

"It's fucking Stan," Kyle said, not immediately realizing what he had said. "I mean, Stan, with a vulgar emphasis." He shook his head in confusion, regarding the explanation as a lost case. "I don't get how… you got Tweek so fucking easily!"

"For one," said Craig, "Tweek isn't a priest. No harm there. But you… well. You're pretty much asking Stan to join the rest of Catholic priests out there."

Kyle cringed at the sound; Ike had tried warning him that the other day. Yet though a part of him knew what both men were trying to say, another part of him didn't seem to mind the idea of Stan possibly being a gay, Catholic priest.

"How'd you find out?" Kyle asked quietly, hearing the distant sound of a shower somewhere upstairs. "How'd you find out Tweek… liked you?"

"Kissed him," Craig said simply.

Kyle stared at him blankly.

"He dropped his coffee," said Tweek, "for the fiftieth time, maybe, and he started freaking out because I had bought him the coffee. And… I dunno. I wanted him to stop blaming himself, so I kissed him. And he… well, he kissed me back, and since then we've been together. I don't think Kenny's too happy with me, though."

"Kenny?"

"He liked Tweek," said Craig. "Or at least, I thought he did. But he yelled at me, saying he was straight and that I should just go fuck myself and Tweek and to not ever talk to him again." He gave a particular nothing the finger, perhaps subconsciously, before giving Kyle a smug look.

"Doesn't sound like him," said Kyle, and Craig agreed.

"Anyway, good luck with you. I smell Red Racer bubble bath, which means Tweek's waiting for me in the tub."

"Red… Racer… bubble bath?" but before Kyle could question how Red Racer could even have a scent, Craig raced out of the room, a foolish grin on his face as he climbed the steps three at a time.

* * *

_If Craig wants Tweek in the bath, he uses coffee-scented bubble bath. Just in case you were curious._

**Author's (Important) Note:** I had decided that this will be my last update until Labor Day weekend. School starts on Monday, and in the few extra hours of free time I will have (six AP classes, man) I will be only working on two things. The first is my newest story, **Where No Leaf Blooms**, and the other is my own novel, **Amongst the Wind**. Please take a look at my first story, as I've been told it's an excellent story so far. You won't find my original story anywhere at the moment, but I hope you do check it out once I've got it up and running.

As for this story, I've written ahead so that I could keep up with occasional updates. I have nine chapters written, and after Labor Day Weekend, when I've had time to get used to my school schedule, I will update this occasionally. I apologize for the convenience and ask you to bear with me.

-Zak


	6. Of boss rabbits and needy beggars

_This is my first day I've actually gotten any free time from school. And so I decided that, since I have a few extra minutes on my hands, and since I have a few extra chapters of this story, I'd go ahead and post this chapter now._

_Expect multiple updates on Labor Day, as planned. I hope you guys are doing well here, without me._

* * *

**The Extravagant Lives of Corrupted Men**

**Ships: **StanKyle, KennyBebe, CraigTweek, EricWendy, KevinLiane**  
Genre: **humor, romance, angst, drama… well, pretty much everything.**  
Warning: **slash pairings, swearing, culture-bashing, character death (Kenny, of course!), drug and alcohol usage, smoking… though it's pretty much just anything goes.**  
Rating: **Teen.**  
Summary:** Stan is a priest who follows lame stereotypes. Kyle believes in after-hour fantasies. And Kenny? Well. Kenny just paints.

Chapter VI

Kenny McKormick rejoiced over his latest sale, spirits in high hopes as he grabbed his paints. His spirits could not be dampened; they were slowly gaining upon a surplus on money, something that hadn't happened for _quite_ some time.

Even as he head Kevin's complaints of electricity and water as he passed, he still couldn't be saddened. He was still in the euphoria of his plan that had gone successful, how he had successfully intoxicated Mr. Marsh to merely buy his painting.

It was only half of what he had gotten from Liane Cartman, but he didn't care; he was somewhat glad that Randy hadn't recognized her breast size, just as Liane hadn't noticed Kevin's enlarged penis….

Hopefully Mr. Marsh wasn't _too_ attracted to small breasts… though, he _did_ marry Sharon.

He could still hear Kevin mumbling in the background, but he didn't really quite pay attention to him much.

Now he'd just have to paint Wendy… and get another large sum of money once more.

"Hey!" Kenny yelled into the building, though only addressing one person in particular. "Kev, did Wendy come by today?"

"That's what I've been fucking trying to tell you!" he screamed back, appearing in the doorway.

The look on his face only deterred Kenny slightly.

"The priest person came in earlier," he said. "He was looking for you, but I told him you weren't around. I think he wanted to talk to you, but… the fuck tard had some meeting to go to."

"Don't call him that," Kenny said. Of course, even if Kenny _usually_ liked to gratify his urges as often as possible, he still considered Stan to be somewhat of an idol, merely for doing something he knew he could never do. "Did he say why he came?"

"Just to talk," Kevin mumbled. "I humored him for a bit, and before he left he managed to tell me that one of his parishioners, Wendy Testaburger, had just lost her grandmother." Kenny's face went blank, staring past his brother's face, past the wall behind him….

"She's not here, is she?" Kenny mouthed quietly, and Kevin shook his head. "The fuck we're going to do about Cartman, then?"

"See if he'll negotiate," Kevin said, and, with a defeated sigh, he walked away.

Perhaps there _was_ something that could dampen his spirits.  
…though a cigarette could change that rather quickly.

-

Peter Gints sat quietly in his empty office, his mind deep in thought. He wasn't even working yet—he always came this early—yet it seemed his mind was working harder than it did while actually on the job.

His own law firm. Peter laughed at that idea. His adopted parents had always encouraged Kyle to pursue the career in law, yet not once did they ever turn their head to the child who wasn't theirs, the child that, in his opinion, had had much more potential….

He sighed, turning to his agenda on the table. He would have three clients today, two of which merely to—

"I got it!" exclaimed the voice of his brother, bursting into the office.

Peter eyed Kyle's curious outfit before speaking. "Got what?"

"The solution to my problem!" Kyle continued eagerly. "I was talking to Craig a while back—not too long ago, really—and he said all I had to do was kiss Stan!" Of course, Craig hadn't _really_ said that, yet people heard what they wanted to hear….

"Craig's an idiot, then," muttered Peter, turning back to his papers. "You're only gonna cost Stan his job if you do that."

"But he's a _priest_, Ike!"

"Peter."

"Fine, _Peter_." Kyle frowned at the name, not used to its sound, but quickly ignored it. "He's a priest, Peter. They can't just _fire_ him, can they?"

"It's much worse, probably," said Peter. "Probably have to go to the boss rabbit to get a pardon and stuff."

"Boss rabbit?"

"The Pope," was the nonchalant reply. "Do what you like, Kyle. Honestly, I don't really care. Just don't get yourself killed. Or raped.

Kyle smirked. "That reminds me of this one—"

"Leave," ordered Peter, and, reluctantly, Kyle complied.

-

"Let's put it this way," Kenny said politely, sitting down on the couch next to the larger man. "We'd really love to accept your offer, but Wendy left the town and won't be back for a while."

"_Meooooooooow_!"

"Shut up, you goddamn pusseh!" He glared at the cat, and it grew silent. "Not cool. Not cool."

"Perhaps in the future I'll get a chance at Wendy, but… for the moment being, do you have any other requests?"

"_Meooooooooow_!"

Eric merely kicked the cat away from them. It landed with a thud by the television.

"Bebe," he said quietly, and Kenny had been shocked at the hearing of it.

…of course, he had been expecting it, sort of. Who else would he have said?—although, he _could_ have asked any of the ex-Raisins crew….

…ex-Raisins, in that they had now graduated into Hooters girls.

"Bebe?" asked Kenny, and Eric nodded.

"Bebe. Swimsuit. I'll offer a hundred for it." He reached for his wallet—an act that proved terribly difficult. At first he checked his front pocket, perhaps in sheer hope that he wouldn't have to search the back ones, but, as he came out empty, he shifted his position to search his back, right pocket. This alone took a whole minute, since squeezing his pudgy fingers into the little room of his back pocket would take much effort, and then, as he seated himself normally once more, he reached for his other pocket, the pocket that actually held the wallet.

…Kenny would've thought it'd be easy to locate the wallet, since it _would_ press into his butt cheek quite bulgingly, but in the end he assumed that, with all that mass pressing on the fluffed couch, the wallet barely made a difference.

"I've only got ninety-five now," he said, "but I'll have a hundred by then. So, Kenneh… is it a deal?"

Kenny didn't even need a second's thought. "Deal."

-

Stan grumbled under his breath, stuffing his hands in the pockets underneath his robes as he entered his small home. Kenny hadn't been home… that hadn't been too great. Now things would probably come out of hand, having not talked to the man he needed….

Things would soon go out of his control. And he didn't want that. He couldn't afford to, because _he_ was the pious one. He _couldn't_ let it control him.

From his shirt pocket he pulled out a rosary. He found himself in front of _that_ place, the place he always chose when praying the rosary. He took to kneeling, and, with the closing of his eyes, sighed heavily.

"Help me," he said, and with that, he started the Apostle's creed.

-

"Hey sexy, wanna fuck?"

"No thanks, Ken. Nice cock, horrible endurance."

"Fuck, you gotta rub it in?" He gave a pout, unnoticeable to Bebe Stevens on the other line.

"I'm not a whore, Kenny, I don't give fucks for the hell of it. Now what'd you want?"

"I want to paint you. I'm a rather good artist, and I'll even pay you a bit if you're up to it."

"How much?"

"Thirty. Bring your best swimsuit, too."

There was a moment of silence between the two, and for a moment Kenny feared the worst. "No, you fucking perv, why do you want to paint me in a swimsuit?"

"Why else?"

"Find yourself someone else." Kenny whimpered; he was losing the war; he _needed_ Bebe to cooperate…."

"_Please_?" he begged. "I'll paint a picture for you, too!—come on, Bebe, you know you love my paintings." Of course, Bebe probably had never _seen_ his artistic talent before, so there was a good chance she wouldn't buy the excuse….

But she did.

"All right, but if you don't paint it, you're not getting me in a swimsuit. Deal?"

"Sure, sure, now what'd you want me to paint?"

The response she gave caused him to drop a jaw.

No. Fucking. Way.

* * *

_While I'm gone from this site, I'm going to be posting video diaries online. More information and the links are on my profile. Go check it out, if you want.  
-Zak  
_


	7. Of potpies, xrays, and morning masses

_This was posted two days before Labor Day due to university applications. If you have any recommendations as to where I should apply, let me know.  
Next planned update day: November 22nd, 2007._**  
**

* * *

**The Extravagant Lives of Corrupted Men**

**Ships: **StanKyle, KennyBebe, CraigTweek, EricWendy, KevinLiane**  
Genre: **humor, romance, angst, drama… well, pretty much everything.**  
Warning: **slash pairings, swearing, culture-bashing, character death (Kenny, of course!), drug and alcohol usage, smoking… though it's pretty much just anything goes.**  
Rating: **Teen.**  
Summary:** Stan is a priest who follows lame stereotypes. Kyle believes in after-hour fantasies. And Kenny? Well. Kenny just paints.

Chapter VII

He was almost there. His breathing was shallow, his face red from the lack of oxygen, his concentration completely focused on finishing his task. He stared hard into the picture in front of him, his mind creating the imaginary situations that would cause him to have his release….

Slow and meaningful, that's how he liked it. He knew that that's how it'd really happen, if it would _ever_ happen. But of course it could never happen—only in the imaginary world it could exist, in the world he created, where being a priest wouldn't make any difference….

He was close now by the way his stomach was tightening, and perhaps even lower. It'd only be moments now—

"Dr. Broflovski?"

Aw, fuck, Sue Zuki came in early to work.

"Just a minute!" cried Kyle, stuffing himself back into his pants and zipping his pants back up. God… he couldn't go out looking like this, she'd surely notice….

"Hey!" Kyle greeted as he unlocked the door.

Sue Zuki frowned, raising an eyebrow as she searched him from head to toe. "Doctor…."

"Yes?"

"You've… you've got that… _thing_ tied around your waist." Kyle frowned, looking down at his lower torso, and sure enough, there was a thick blanket around his waist. It wasn't one to be slept with—it wasn't even much of a blanket; it was used to protect the body during x-ray scans, but it most resembled a blanket.

"Oh… right, er… I was, uh… giving myself an x-ray."

"Clearly," Sue replied. "I'll be in the reception room if you need me… if you'll give me the key, of course."

"What?—oh, right," and he tossed her the ring of keys before shutting the door. Kyle sighed, returning to his desk as he stuffed the pictures of Stan back into the album, returning that album into the drawer. It was lucky she didn't go further into his office….

The second he tidied it away, his phone rang. Sue would answer that… so he ignored the call, putting the apron back into the closet, and taking out the white coat he usually had on during his medical practices.

That phone was still ringing. Why wasn't she picking it up?

Kyle grumbled, deciding to take the call for himself. "Hello, Broflovski's Family Dentist center, Kyle speaking."

"Kyle!"

"Ken?" Kyle seemed to jump on the spot at the hearing of his old friend's voice. "Ken, what's up?—you have a phone?"

"Nah, Kyle, it's called a payphone."

"Oh… right. Anyway, what can I do for you?"

"You think there's a time I can see you today?—not like for an appointment, but just a talk. There're a few things I'd like to discuss with you, if you don't mind."

Kyle gulped; were these things anything bad?—unless… did Kenny know about his… about his obsession with the local priest…? "I…I guess. How long do you need?"

"Not too long, thirty minutes tops." Although… thirty minutes _was_ a long time, still….

"My last appointment is at four," said Kyle, flipping through the printed pages on his desk. "If you wanna stop by the office at maybe five, we can talk then."

"Okay, Kyle. See you then?" And before a goodbye he hung up. Probably because he needed another fifty cents to continue the call, but it was all speculation on Kyle's part.

Why did Kenny want to talk to him?—Kyle really wanted to know.

Either way, though, that left him a whole hour beforehand to continue what he wanted to finish that morning. With a glance toward the hidden pictures in his drawer, Kyle cast a devious grin, and headed out of his office.

-

"Hey Stan."

Father Stan jumped on the spot. "Whoa! …I mean… sorry."

Bebe raised a curious eyebrow.

"Sorry… thought you were someone else." Stan coughed distinctively, straightening his posture. "You attended morning mass? I'm impressed."

"Actually, no, I kinda just came in once everything ended." She gave a nervous chuckle, Stan rolling her eyes. "Anyway, I have a little… problem. I was hoping I could get some help?"

"From me?" asked Stan, giving a wave to an old woman. "…Nancy, you know… oldest person who goes to morning mass."

"_Stan_?"

"Sorry… anyway. You want my help?"

"That'd be good," she said, and Stan led her into one of the pews. It would've looked like the two were praying, except they were facing each other instead of the altar, and they were talking more than they probably would've doing otherwise. "I have a problem at work."

"Continue."

"Well, I've been working there for three years, Stan, and I've been doing really well there. Extremely well, actually. I'm always number one in everything I'm doing. But my boss… no. He's… I won't say inside a church."

"Being unfair?"

Bebe nodded. "He won't give me a promotion. He claims it's because I'm essential because of my productivity, but I know that's not it. All the people he's promoted have black or brown hair, decently-sized chests—the women, of course—and they all have degrees from Ivy League schools."

"Whereas you—"

"—have a bachelor's degree from Colorado State, have blonde hair, and big boobs." She sighed, resting her head on the pew in front of her. "I didn't even want boobs this big, I couldn't _afford_ going out of state, and I didn't choose to be blonde…."

"So it's an issue of stereotypes?" asked Stan, and Bebe nodded.

Stan sighed, looking away; he wouldn't be much help to her at all, though he didn't know how to break the news to her. Even before this talk, Stan had always thought Bebe wasn't all that smart, though he had never been in any classes with her in high school or in college. He had also envisioned her as more of a whore, especially since she had had boobs since before he even knew what they were… but then, hadn't she said back then she didn't want them?

"Bebe, I…."

"What do _you_ do when you're confronted with a stereotype?" she asked, eyeing Stan curiously. "Let's see, you're a priest… what happens if someone just assumes you're a gay child molester because you're a catholic priest?"

Stan found himself blanking out at the thought; he didn't want to be reminded of that other blonde girl's words, how she had made that statement in an attempt to get him to like her…. Back then, he had done _nothing_, merely shaking it off… did that mean he was accepting the stereotype?

…but he wasn't gay… as far as he knew… and he _definitely_ wouldn't ever have sex with young boys….

…_I'd rather do Kyle than screw a psychopath like you!_

"I… I don't know Bebe. I gotta get going."

"Stan, _wait_!" She stood up with him, clinging onto his arm. "Stan, I need help!"

"I'm… I'm not sure if I can help you," he muttered quietly. "And I've got a meeting to run to… coordinating with the music director for this Sunday's mass… sorry."

And with that he left, leaving a confused Bebe to her own. Seemingly confused, at least, but she was smirking quite visibly once he was out of sight.

She had done her part.

-

Kevin McKormick was met by a walking mass of blob.

"You got the painting yet?"

"No," Kevin replied, helping himself inside. "I was wondering… is your mother around?"

Eric growled, turning to his television. "She's makin' me mah potpie. If you make it burn, Kevin, I swear I'll kill ya!"

"Relax, I'm not gonna let it burn." Kevin shut the door behind him as he made his way to the kitchen, stepping over the cat as he crossed the television. From the corner of his eye he caught Cartman returning to the television, giving himself a laugh as he sat on one of the cat's toys, making a loud squeak as he landed.

"Goddamnit pusseh!" he heard Cartman yell before he reached the kitchen.

"Oh… Kevin." Liane eyed him admirably. "What a surprise."

"I wanted to… make a negotiation." Kevin gave a slight cough, giving Liane a pleasant face as she turned her back to the oven.

"I gave you two hundred for my last painting," she said sternly. "I think that should make you satisfied. No… I've made up my mind, Kevin. I can't buy paintings from you for a while, sorry."

"But we really need money," said Kevin, though he wasn't begging just yet. "Liane, at least listen to my negotiation?"

"All right." She folded her arms. "What's your offer then?"

"Well," began Kevin, "A little bird told me that you haven't… well, you haven't had _any_ in a while."

She shook her head. "I haven't… oh no. No."

"You don't even know what I'm going to say yet!" Kevin protested, though a grin was on his face. "Liane—"

"You've got to be at least fifteen years younger than me," she said, shaking her head. "There's no way—"

"—you don't want some, then?" he said, perhaps a little too huskily, but it proved the effect he wanted. "I like older women. You like younger men. You can't resist it, and you know it."

She grumbled, turning back to the oven as she peered inside.

"If you're up to it, we'll give you a painting for twenty-five percent off," he added, though on impulse. "Please…."

"Fine," she mumbled, though it was clear she doubted the decision she had just made. "…you want to do it now, then?"

Kevin paused, thinking the matter over, but then shook his head. "Wait for the potpie first."


	8. Of meetings, bribes, and afterglows

_I've been having a really shitty week, to be honest. I'm only posting this because I need an income of reviews to make me feel somewhat better. Of course, you could also go ahead and completely shoot down that plan of mine by not reviewing at all, too, but I'll leave that decision to you._

* * *

**The Extravagant Lives of Corrupted Men**

**Ships: **StanKyle, KennyBebe, CraigTweek, EricWendy, KevinLiane**  
Genre: **humor, romance, angst, drama… well, pretty much everything.**  
Warning: **slash pairings, swearing, culture-bashing, character death (Kenny, of course!), drug and alcohol usage, smoking… though it's pretty much just anything goes.**  
Rating: **Teen.**  
Summary:** Stan is a priest who follows lame stereotypes. Kyle believes in after-hour fantasies. And Kenny? Well. Kenny just paints.

Chapter VIII

It would be any moment now, Kyle knew, before Kenny would arrive. He had sent Sue home long ago, perhaps an hour, and between that time and now he had… kept himself busy. An hour had passed like fifteen minutes to him, yet now, waiting for Kenny, it seemed forever.

He was no longer in his office. He didn't want to risk Kenny finding the stuff he was hiding there. No, he'd be meeting with Kenny in the reception area, where nothing could go wrong. He assumed Sue left nothing personal in her workspace, nor did he want to find out; he didn't want her through his things, so he wouldn't go through hers.

Finally, with the small, quiet noise of the door creaking open, the familiar blonde man appeared before Kyle's eyes, a grin wide on his face.

"Sup, Kyle?" he greeted, patting his old friend on the back. "My, my, a dentist…? I would never have thought."

"Same," he said weakly, and at this Kenny cast a frown. "Everyone kept thinking I'd be a lawyer," Kyle clarified, and Kenny nodded. "In the end, that's what Ike ended up being."

"I see." Kenny took a moment to glance around the room, his eyes lingering upon the many frames around the room. Except, those frames were filled with certificates and diplomas, and not paintings…. "So…."

"Tell me about this thing you wanted to discuss," said Kyle, walking to a nearby mirror to fix his tie.

Kenny did not speak immediately, only watching curiously at the standing Kyle in the distance. He eyed him curiously, not in a lusting manner, but rather, with an analytical gaze. He was assessing Kyle, though in what way, no one could tell by his facial expression.

"Ken?"

"How're you?" Kenny asked lightly, his furrowed face showing emotion. "Doing well?"

"Yeah… why?"

"No reason. Enjoy being a dentist?"

"I guess, Ken, but what's this gotta do with—?"

"Making good money, I take it?" interrupted Kenny, and at this Kyle raised his eyebrows.

"Ken… I… guess? But I mean…." Kyle turned back from the mirror. "You need money?"

Kenny's face lit up at this, but when Kyle reached into his back pocket, Kenny shook his head hurriedly. "No Kyle, I couldn't just _take_ money from you, you know that."

"But…." Kyle frowned at Kenny. "Isn't that why you're here?"

Kenny grumbled under his breath, turning away. "I… need your help in… getting the money."

-

Stan sighed, shaking his head, and as his hands searched for the object in his pants, he gave a low groan.

"F—" He grumbled instead. "I left my keys inside." Stan ran quickly to get them, and after attaining them, he managed to get himself out the door once more, locking it behind him. Throughout his walk he massaged the temple of his head—on the way to his keys he had tripped on an extension cable, causing him to slip onto the floor; and on the way back, managed to trip on that same cord.

By the time he arrived his destination, he was sure he was red from all the rubbing he had done to his head.

He rang the doorbell once and waited.

No answer.

He rang it again.

No answer.

"Wonder why he's never here," Stan muttered, leaning against the wall as he rang a third time. Yet when he _still_ got no answer, Stan mumbled and fell to the ground.

He'd wait for him.

-

"You'd rather get money from someone else than me?" Kyle asked, looking rather confused. "I don't get it…."

"It's different," the blonde replied, his gaze unmoving. "Kyle… I paint for a living."

"You do?"

Kenny nodded. "You see… I need money… and someone's willing to pay me. So I have to pay he—that person what she wants so I can sell it to her."

"Ah," said Kyle, nodding his head. Yet his face quickly furrowed, as the intelligent Jew found something not clicking in the equation forming in his head. "Where do I come in?"

"Er… she… wants a painting of you." The room grew silent as Kyle looked blatantly at Kenny, occasionally looking down at himself with complete… awe?

"But I'm… I'm not anything special," he said, and he even pulled out his dress shirt to show his stomach. "Barely anything there. What girl wants a painting of _me_?"

"Bebe," Kenny said simply, and Kyle simply stared.

"…makes sense," he said. "So… do you want to paint me here, or…?"

"There's a bit more to it," said Kenny, and as he beckoned Kyle closer he whispered the rest into his ear. Why they were whispering, neither man knew, especially since the two were the only ones present at the table. Regardless of the manner of communication, however, Kyle learned of Bebe's want, and there was a distinct sparkle in his eye as he gaped at Kenny.

"He won't go through with this," said Kyle, stuffing his shirt back into his pants,

"How about you? You want this?"

Kyle had to restrain the little something that was beginning to grow. "Of course… of course not," he stuttered, "but I'll definitely do it…." For a moment Kenny gave Kyle another searching look, but it was only after a careful look at the situation when Kenny realized Kyle's motives.

He smirked at Kyle and said nothing.

"You busy tonight?" Kenny asked, and Kyle shook his head, not even thinking about the question. And as he left with Kenny, the only thing he could think of was how he might actually get something out of this….

That was the most important part, after all.

-

The sex was repulsing, Kevin had to admit, but if there were one thing that washed away that feeling it was the feeling of knowing he'd be making a profit out of it.

-

Stan sat patiently by Kenny's doorstep, waiting patiently for Kenny to come back from wherever he was. Yet there was something bugging him as he sat on the doorstep, yet he couldn't immediately place his finger on what it was, exactly….

In fact, it was only when he saw Kenny in the distance did he remember what it had been. Why had the boy suggested going to his house at a time he wasn't even there?

And then, when he saw Kenny's companion, Stan understood everything.


	9. Of pseudonyms and discovered secrets

_Not my best chapter ever. Sorry for the ridiculous wait, and even more sorry for the ridiculously short chapter.  
And if you're going to leave a review, don't just say that I lack description. By now you should've realized that that was intentional. _

* * *

**The Extravagant Lives of Corrupted Men**

**Ships: **StanKyle, KennyBebe, CraigTweek, EricWendy, KevinLiane**  
Genre: **humor, romance, angst, drama… well, pretty much everything.**  
Warning: **slash pairings, swearing, culture-bashing, character death (Kenny, of course!), drug and alcohol usage, smoking… though it's pretty much just anything goes.**  
Rating: **Teen.**  
Summary:** Stan is a priest who follows lame stereotypes. Kyle believes in after-hour fantasies. And Kenny? Well. Kenny just paints.

Chapter IX

Far, far away a distressed Wendy couldn't help but conjure a stray thought. Sure, she was paying attention to the funeral, but she couldn't help but to think how home was doing at the time.

South Park would be fine without her, of course.

-

He thought he understood everything. But he really didn't.

"What the hell is _he_ doing here?" Stan asked in rage, pointing at Kyle.

Kenny replied smugly. "Could say the same thing about you, Stan. At least Kyle's here by invitation." Stan only gaped, looking from the blonde to the Jew. Repeat three times. "Ah, I might've heard Kevin mentioning something of the sort…."

"Your brother said you _wanted_ me to come over. At this _very exact moment_." Stan seethed at Kyle before sneering at Kenny once more. "So, why'd you suggest a time you weren't even going to be home for?—no, no. Better yet, why'd you have me come over while you were with _him_?"

"Calm down, Stan," said Kenny, and though Stan was quite the unstable one he managed to do just that. "Maybe I _might've_ told Kevin to tell you to come…."

"What're you playing at, then?" Stan asked before turning to Kyle. "And why the hell are you being so fucking quiet?"

"Didn't think you actually wanted to hear me talk," Kyle muttered quietly.

"I don't."

Silence.

"Why don't both of you come inside?" offered Kenny, which earned a divided response. Nevertheless, though, Kenny forcefully shoved both into his abode, making sure to lock it behind them.

"Why am I here?" Stan mused aloud, but it was only until he saw the blank easel when his mind began to catch on. "Ken, what…?—I only came to—!"

"Here's the plan," said Kenny, and the man leaned in to kill.

Stan's eyes grew wide. But it hadn't been the only thing of his to have grown.

-

"Hello, Bebelyn." The blonde frowned, turned on spot, and shook her head miserably.

"Get it through your thick head, Adam. My name is Bebe. _Not_ Bebelyn."

"Someone as pretty as you couldn't _possibly_ have been named something as ridiculous as that," said the tall, brown-haired, blue-eyed, well-defined, well-dressed, well-almost-everything-else, stereotype-influenced man. "_Bebe_ is something a drunken man calls his stoned girlfriend. Unless there's an affair with your father I'm not aware of."

"Fuck off, Adam."

"That's boss to you," he sneered, and out of instinct she quickly apologized. Adam only laughed, mocking her supposed pathetic behavior before turning away. "Keep it up Stevens and you'll _never_ get that promotion."

"As if I were ever gonna get it, anyway," she said, spitting distastefully into her coffee before watching him leave.

-

"How long?" Stan grumbled, glancing quickly at Kenny. "I swear, if anyone finds out that their local priest is…."

"Gay?" offered Kenny.

Stan only glared. "Modeling in such situations. I'm not gay." For a moment he saw Kyle tremble, but he took it as merely the cold touching the Jewish man's bare skin. "So how long?"

"As long as it'll take me to finish," said Kenny smugly, to which Stan only whimpered. "And I'd estimate one to two hours."

If there were such a thing as super-whimpering, Stan would've done that. But instead it was merely just a case of more whimpering.

"You haven't even undressed yet!" Kenny exclaimed, looking at Stan. "The bottom halves of you won't show, so you can keep that on. But that… _thing_ you're wearing… it's gotta go." Stan mumbled, but in the end he did as he was told. He glared in Kyle's direction before removing himself of garments; from a distance, Kyle was certainly enjoying the show.

"Run it through me again," Stan asked, and it was then when Stan began to ask himself why he was going through with this.

"Bebe thinks you're the dominant one," said Kenny, turning to Stan, "so you're going to be… well, dominant."

"Meaning?" Kenny sighed, leaving his easel. He grumbled as he began rearranging the two men, positioning them to his liking. Repeat once. Admire. Repeat two more times.

"Like that," said Kenny simply, smirking at the blush on Kyle's face. Stan, on the other hand, looked constipated. "Just hold that for two hours."

"I can't," mumbled Stan, avoiding eye contact with the boy underneath him. "Kyle's been sneaking fossils into his pockets again."

"…what?" Kenny asked innocently, though all three knew what he meant. Kyle turned away in embarrassment, only to be scolded at Kenny from the easel. "Stare into his eyes, damnit!"

So Kyle did exactly that. And turned as red as the Crayola crayon. But Kenny didn't mind, since that only added to the overall image.

The two men talked sparingly. About old times as friends. About Wendy. About why Kyle got angry about Stan's decision to enter priesthood. About why Stan was uncomfortable around Kyle nowadays and didn't like being around him.

Kenny smiled at the two, glad of their somewhat truce. It made for easier drawing, no longer having to mentally erase tension lines in Stan's face when copying it to his painting.

"You should come listen to one of my homilies one day," Stan said quietly. "I know you wouldn't agree with it much, but it'd be nice to have my old friend giving me some moral support."

"Maybe one day," said Kyle, closing his eyes. The contact was unbearable; he couldn't possibly imagine how Stan was coping with a boner digging into his thigh. Though… though….

Kyle had only just realized it. He wasn't the only one with fossils in his pockets.

Eventually their intimate encounter came to a close. And though Stan appeared to be relieved, Kyle couldn't help but to notice a small glint in Stan's eye when he gave his farewell….

They were friends again by the end. Though one was still wishing for more.

-

"Thanks for letting me use your car, dad."  
Shelley.

"No problem."  
Mr. Marsh.  
"Did you have fun?"

"Of course. But actually, I was meaning to ask…."

"No, you do not have permission to send your brother to the butcher shop wrapped in plastic."

A sardonic laugh. "Good times…."

"You were saying?"

"I was meaning to ask you why you have a Danica Patrick painting in the car."

Silence.  
"Part of the job."

"Being a meteorologist?"

Silence.  
"Yes… um, I was… _analyzing_ the change in humidity when… well, that's work for you."

"You spill soda on it or something? It's really sticky."

"That's, well… part of the experiment, see…."

Awkward silence.  
"Right. Well, I'll leave that… experiment to you, then. Have fun with that."

"Oh, I will."

"Oh and, uh, dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Her boobs aren't that big."

-

"As promised, you'll get a copy," Kenny said to Kyle after Stan had gone. Though, Kenny knew, the black-haired man would be coming back. After all, he still needed advice….

Kyle only smiled, gazing into the painting. This would certainly be plenty of fuel to the fires of his fantastical desires….


	10. Of noises and unexpected expectances

_Finally an update! I'm sorry it took so long. I actually forgot this story existed, I'll be honest_…_. I hope you haven't forgotten about this like I had. _

_Anyway, here's the next chapter. I'd appreciate reviews. I have the next one written out too, but I'm not posting it just yet. If you go look at my author profile after reading and reviewing this chapter, you will find a **very important notice** regarding my updating and writing situation. I urge you to take a gander at it, as it may affect you and help you understand my constant come-and-go activity. Thanks!_

_And with that, here we go. Short chapter, as characteristic of this story. Happy reading!_

* * *

**The Extravagant Lives of Corrupted Men**

**Ships: **StanKyle, KennyBebe, CraigTweek, EricWendy, KevinLiane**  
Genre: **humor, romance, angst, drama… well, pretty much everything.**  
Warning: **slash pairings, swearing, culture-bashing, character death (Kenny, of course!), drug and alcohol usage, smoking… though it's pretty much just anything goes.**  
Rating: **Teen.**  
Summary:** Stan is a priest who follows lame stereotypes. Kyle believes in after-hour fantasies. And Kenny? Well. Kenny just paints.

Chapter X

Bebe Stevens returned home late that night quite frustrated, as any woman in her position would be. After all, who wouldn't be riled up after having had to deal with a boss with painstakingly clear issues with women progressing in society? Her boss obviously saw something wrong with that, and she saw something wrong with him seeing something wrong in her potential and previous success. Dealing with it would be no easy task for her, either, though she knew a good hour or so in her relaxing, warm bubble-filled bath would at least help relieve her problems, if not make her forget them altogether.

However, though quite expected of all unexpected visitors, she hadn't quite expected Kenny McKormick to be expecting her expected return by her doorstep.

"Hey sexy, wanna—?"

"Not today, McKormick, I'm pissed off."

"Oh, sorry Babe, wanna tell me about it?"

"…name's Bebe, not Babe." Kenny merely shrugged, reaching behind him and pulling out a wrapped something from the darkness.

"I got you something," he said, smiling. "As requested, a magnificently slashed picture of the once inseparable duo-of-all-time from our high school days… amidst their hot make-up sex session." He handed it over to Bebe, who in turn opened the door to her house and let the both of them in. Kenny quickly found himself seeking comfort in her amazingly comfy couch, while she examined the painting under a bluish-tinted fluorescent light in the kitchen.

"Pretty good job," Bebe said at last, though she had to repeat herself over the television Kenny had just turned on. "Since when did you paint? I didn't know you had artistic talent."

"Since I started needing money," Kenny said almost automatically. "Anyway, I hope you're happy. I was going to ask you to hop into that swimsuit so I could start painting, but since you seem a little stressed out…."

"I'm sorry," Bebe apologized, though Kenny had no real way of knowing how serious or sincere she was. So, instead, Kenny invited her over to the couch, where both began to watch a rather interesting lineup of old cartoons.

After some time: "Wanna talk about it?"

So Bebe did. She went on about many things. About her boss Adam. About the double standard in her work. About her frustration. About never being able to get a promotion. And, in turn, Kenny sweet-talked and BS'ed advice, both thrown in her direction, and she'd always nod and continue on.

Sucking up to people's likening was Kenny's strongpoint, after all.

In the end, Bebe felt a lot better. Kenny could tell. And so….

"Well, I guess I'll be off. Let me know when you're ready to start painting… preferably soon since I still need the money. I'll give you the thirty dollars then."

"Oh, don't worry about the thirty dollars, you need the money," was Bebe's response. "In fact, I'll pay you thirty dollars myself… for the painting."

"Oh, you don't have to…!"

"I insist. In fact…." She glanced at the clock in the kitchen. "I was planning on climbing into the tub for a long warm bath. If you have your painting stuff…."

Kenny smirked. "I'll be right back."

-

Four men returned home that evening.

The first felt relieved. Having just come from an emotionally straining circumstance, he entered his abode and fell upon his couch. A motivational speaker spoke in the background, but he did not listen to it. Instead his mind was thrown in confusion. His mind was filled with thoughts of him, why they fell apart, why he was angry at him…. None of it made sense to him. Nor did he want it to.

The second felt pained. Having just come from a gratifyingly stimulating circumstance, he entered his house and fell upon his bed. A doorbell rang in the background, but he did not answer it. Instead his mind was thrown in anger. His mind was haunted with images of him, how touching him felt, how much he wanted to feel it yet again…. None of it seemed to go away. Nor did he want them too.

The third felt ecstatic. Having just come from a sexually charged circumstance, he entered his shack and fell upon his brother's cot. Crickets hummed in the background, but he did not listen to it. Instead his mind was thrown in uncertainty. His mind was filled with the sickening images of her face in mid-orgasm, how disgusted he felt, yet how relieved he'd be getting something out of it…. The complexity of that emotion didn't quite make sense to him. He didn't really care to, either.

The last man. Oh, that last man.

He felt nothing. Sure, he had just come from a rather lucky circumstance. But as he entered his abode and found someone else sleeping on his bed, he cared to feel nothing.

His brother's snores reverberated in the background, but he did not listen to it. Instead, his mind was thrown in emotionless and apathetic bliss. His mind was filled with curiosity, how he had managed to score both the Stan and Kyle picture _and_ the Bebe picture in one night. His luck didn't quite make sense to him.

But did he want it to?

Not really.


End file.
